


Wishful Thinking

by skimmingthesurface



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Post OTGW, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>allieinarden: "The Thanksgiving immediately after the events of the series. Because I think about that a lot."</p>
<p>Wirt had been so focused on trying to see Greg as his little brother – without any stipulations – that he’d forgotten about the very thing that made them half-brothers in the first place. Their dads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> So, this prompt kinda got away from me just a bit. And by a bit, I mean it’s over 11,000 words. Over 11,000 words… on Thanksgiving. Yeah. A lot of my headcanons for Wirt and Greg’s lives ended up in this - and some new ones were made - but I hope this fits what you were looking for! It is the Thanksgiving immediately after OTGW, so it meets that requirement! Hope you enjoy it and thanks so much for the prompt!
> 
> Because it's so long, I decided to upload it on its own instead of putting it in with "The Loveliest Lies of All." Providing that the other prompts don't get out of hand, future prompts will continue to be uploaded there.

“-and then we each got to make our very own turkey! Out of plates! That’s where this guy came from. He used to be what people eat dinner on and now he’s just dinner.” Greg grinned at his clever play on words, waving his paper plate turkey in the air as he and Wirt walked home from school.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” Wirt chimed in before he was accidentally whacked in the face with the mess of rainbow feathers. “Greg, careful.”

Greg showed no sign of having heard his big brother and took to making turkey noises at him instead. Or what Wirt assumed Greg thought was a turkey sound. It sounded more like his elephant interpretation.

Quirking an eyebrow, he flicked the floppy head of the paper turkey. “Greg, turkeys say ‘gobble, gobble.’ Not… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“My turkey’s special, Wirt. He doesn’t do what the other turkeys do.” Greg beamed proudly at his creation.

Wirt definitely had to admit that he had a pretty special, rainbow, glitter turkey. As they came up to the front door, he fished the house key out of his pocket. Their mom’s car was in the driveway, which meant she was working from home today, but she probably wouldn’t want to be disturbed by them ringing the doorbell. Wirt barely managed to keep his hyper-active brother from pounding his glittery fists on the door, letting him race inside once he unlocked it.

“I have to show Jason Funderberker my turkey!” he shouted, disappearing down the hall, his backpack dumped in a heap in the middle of the foyer.

Rolling his eyes, Wirt nudged it off to the side with his foot. He couldn’t really blame Greg for his excitement though. With a four day weekend ahead of them, what kid wouldn’t be excited? Not to mention it was the only time of the year where Greg was allowed to have marshmallows for dinner. Granted, he had to also eat their mom’s sweet potato casserole that the marshmallows sat on top of, but Greg really liked the entire dish anyway and rightly so. It was the best part of their traditional Thanksgiving meal. That, and the crescent rolls.

Wirt glanced towards the kitchen. Greg’s dad had finished up the shopping the night before, so they were all set for the big, family dinner tomorrow. Wirt checked to make sure Greg had made it all the way to his room, then crept over to the pantry as quietly as possible. If the shopping was done, then that meant…

A whole, unopened bag of those mini marshmallows.

Wirt popped it open and grabbed a handful. Okay, so he was looking forward to having marshmallows for dinner, too, but he saw no problem with that. Besides, if he didn’t sneak some now then there wasn’t a chance he’d get any once Greg found them. He tied the marshmallow bag up so they wouldn’t go stale, then poured the entire handful into his mouth at once.

“And to think I thought it was Greg sneaking the marshmallows from the last bag.”

Wirt jumped with a startled yelp, nearly choking. He spun around to face his mom, arms flailing. Her arms were folded across her chest, but the grin on her face revealed that she found the whole situation quite amusing. She reached for the marshmallow bag, opening it back up and taking some for herself. Wirt sagged against the wall, shaking his head at her antics.

“Don’t tell, Greg,” she whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. “He tried to get into the bag last night and I told him these were special, Thanksgiving-only marshmallows.”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna give him a chance to get even more hyped up than usual,” Wirt replied, brushing his palms together to rid them of the sugar residue. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She laughed, stepping around him so she could get to the fridge. “So how was school?” she asked, pulling out the gallon of milk.

Wirt shrugged. “Fine. We didn’t really do much.”

“Did you feel alright?” Two glasses joined the milk on the kitchen counter, both filled the exact amount.

“Yeah. I felt pretty good actually.” He managed a small smile.

While he didn’t typically share so much about what happened with her, he knew that this was something she needed to hear. Ever since Halloween he’d been trying hard to ease her nerves over their – what he believed to be – near-death experience. He forgot sometimes how frazzled she could get, especially when she acted so cheerful. Plus, she’d been the one to drop everything and pick him up from school the last time he didn’t feel very good.

“That’s great, sweetheart.” She smiled brightly at him, then put the milk away and got out two apples and a jar of peanut butter. “I’m glad that you’re starting to get back in the swing of things. I know it’s been a tough month for you.”

Wirt scratched at his head. “Yeah, well…” And now the sharing was over. “Want me to grab Greg? He’s got this turkey he made in class that he probably wants to show you. And snack’s almost done.”

His mom paused her apple slicing. “In a minute. There’s something I need to talk about with you first,” she told him, carefully choosing her words.

“O-oh?” He blinked.

“Your father called.”

Of all the things he expected her to want to talk about, that was not it. “Oh he did, did he?” Wirt frowned. “It’s about time. I mean, it’s only been three weeks since I was in the hospital, but who’s counting?”

His mom set down the knife and stared hard at him. “Wirt.”

“What?” He crossed his arms, shoulders hunched. “You’re the one that was always saying how I shouldn’t count on him.”

“I never said that,” she chided gently. “I just… You know he’s busy. Not that it’s a good enough excuse. It isn’t, but it shouldn’t…”

“Come as a surprise?” Wirt sighed. “Yeah, it doesn’t. I guess I should be glad he called at all. So, what? Does he want me to call him back or something?”

Hesitating, she finished slicing the apples and took to arranging them on a plate. “Or something,” she admitted, sighing when Wirt simply raised an eyebrow in question. “He wants to see you.”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What?”

She snorted. “I know. I pretty much reacted the same way.”

“Mom, the last time I saw him was when I had to stay with him for the week you and Jonathan went on your honeymoon. I was nine.” Wirt gestured to himself as if that proved some unspoken point, which it kinda did. “He didn’t even call for my last birthday.”

“I’m as shocked as you are, sweetheart,” she replied. “But I’m telling you, he said he wants to see you.”

Wirt filled his cheeks with air, then blew it out in one big huff. “Alright. I guess hearing that your only son almost died does change your perspective on life a bit.”

“ _Wirt_.”

“Sorry.” He shrunk a little under her disapproving stare. “So, when does he want to see me? Christmas? I’d rather not do Christmas, I mean, I’d rather stay here than have to go anywhere. We have all those holiday traditions that we always do, plus I promised Greg I’d take him sledding. Not that he couldn’t do it on his own, but he asked me and I said we’d do it over winter break-”

“Tomorrow.”

Wirt blinked, his rambling cut off by that one word. “Tomorrow?”

“He wants you in New York for Thanksgiving,” she sighed. “He said he can buy you a plane ticket for tonight. Apparently there are still some available, but they’ve got to be the most overpriced tickets imaginable.” She shook her head, spooning globs of peanut butter onto the plate with the apples. “Anyway, he’d fly you out there tonight and then send you home on Sunday afternoon. I told him I’d talk to you first, of course, because it’s your decision, but he seems pretty set on it.”

Wirt was still trying to process the word “tomorrow.” His head spun as he imagined the possibility, barely able to recall his dad’s apartment in Manhattan. The only thing he could really remember was that it only had one bedroom and he’d had to spend the week sleeping on the couch in the living room. He remembered _that_ vividly. He’d never felt so completely… unwanted.

Now his dad just expected him to drop everything and hop on a plane to spend Thanksgiving with him like he actually wanted to see him? He almost couldn’t believe it. Was his dad the most clueless person on the planet?

Before he had a chance to blurt out his jumbo-sized “no,” the sound of wilting paper came from behind him. He turned around to see Greg with his very special, but very sad looking, rainbow turkey staring up at him with a very furrowed brow.

“You’re not gonna be here for Thanksgiving?”

Wirt fumbled for a response, failing so spectacularly at it that their mom had to swoop in and rescue him. “We don’t know yet, Greg. Wirt and I are still discussing it.”

Of course, that still placed him the line of fire. Wirt shrunk under Greg’s disapproving frown. His little brother was actually pretty good at that. He hmphed and crossed his arms, crinkling his turkey without a care. Glitter rained down onto the floor.

“Why would you go somewhere else for Thanksgiving, Wirt?” Greg demanded to know. “You’re supposed to spend it with your family.”

“Yeah, I know, Greg, but I would be- I mean, I’m not going, I’m just saying if I did, I’d still be with family. Because- never mind. Never mind the because. Because I’m not going. I’m staying right here.” He smiled weakly as he pointed to the floor.

Greg didn’t appear convinced. “I thought our family was coming to our house this year.”

“They are, Greg. This is… it’s different family.”

“Well, then why wouldn’t we all go see our family together?” he pressed.

“Because it’s not _our_ family, Greg. It’s mine,” Wirt explained the obvious. “We were talking about me visiting my dad. Which I’m not doing. Because I’m not going,” he said again, though this time to their mom since she would be the one relaying the information.

“Your dad?”

The question wasn’t Greg simply repeating what he’d just heard. No, Greg honestly sounded like he had no idea such a concept existed. Wirt and their mom exchanged glances. Sure, Wirt had never openly talked about his dad with Greg, but he’d thought for sure their mom had brought it up at some point or that Greg would at least pick up on it on his own.

“Yeah,” Wirt answered quietly. “My dad.”

“But what about Dad?”

“He’s- Greg, you know he’s not my dad. He’s your dad. My dad… my dad’s in New York.” He didn’t want to say “left him” to a six-year-old even though that’s exactly what he’d done.

Curiosity replaced the frown on Greg’s face, his eyes rounding and arms falling to his sides. “Oh. How come?”

Because Wirt hadn’t been good enough. No, he couldn’t say that. He didn’t even know if that was true. He looked to his mom for help. How was he supposed to explain this? He’d barely been six years old himself at the time.

Thankfully, their mom knew to take over. “Wirt’s dad and I ended up having some different opinions that we couldn’t get over,” she told him, crouching down to be at his level. “So we decided it would be best for us to stop being married, and then he moved to New York for a job in the city while Wirt and I stayed here and eventually met your dad.”

“Oh. When you stopped being married, did he stop being Wirt’s dad, too?”

“No.” She shook her head. “He’s still Wirt’s dad. He’ll always be his dad, that’s not something that can be changed, honey. Just like I’ll always be your mom and Wirt’s mom, and Dad will always be your dad.”

“Then how come I’ve never seen him?” Greg asked, looking up at Wirt. “How come he never visits?”

Wirt shrugged. He wondered the same thing from time to time. Greg waited for him to say something though, taking the silence as his big brother thinking it through. Their mom squeezed his shoulder, capturing his attention once again.

“Sometimes people… well, Wirt’s dad just wasn’t ready to be a dad. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily, but it’s…” She pursed her lips, wracking her brain for some way to explain it to her youngest son.

“It’s a rock fact?” Greg supplied, trying to be helpful.

She smiled. “Yeah. It can be a rock fact.”

Pleased by his deduction, Greg turned to face Wirt again. “Okay. It’s alright with me if you spend Thanksgiving with your dad, Wirt.”

He frowned. “Greg, I already told you. I’m not going.”

“But he’s your family and he wants to see you. Obviously he’s trying to be a better dad,” Greg pointed out.

Wirt stiffened, then glared at his mom. She ran her fingers through her hair, shooting him an apologetic glance. Why couldn’t things with Greg be easy? Why couldn’t Greg just accept this and move on to some other topic that didn’t involve things that were none of his business? Because it wasn’t any of his business, not at all. This conversation was ending, now.

“I don’t want to see him, Greg. So that’s that.”

“But he’s your _dad_ , Wirt. I’d want to see Dad if I had to go a long time without seeing him,” Greg continued, holding up his turkey. “And it’s Thanksgiving!”

“I don’t care. Stop pestering me about it,” he snapped, swatting at the paper plate.

“Wirt,” his mom warned.

“What? It’s none of his business!” Wirt gestured to him.

“I make my own business,” Greg retorted. “I pave the way for the future.”

Wirt groaned, smacking his own forehead with his palm. “Just shut up, Greg.”

Greg gasped, dropping his turkey as he covered his mouth with one hand and pointed at him with the other while their mom stood up straight to face him. “We don’t say shut up, Wirt,” she reminded him, to which he rolled his eyes. “I know you’re upset, but that’s no excuse to take it out on your brother.”

“I’m not upset!” He brushed past Greg and out of the kitchen. “I’d have to care to be upset. Which I don’t, so I’m not. I’ll be in my room. Don’t bother me.”

Closing his bedroom door behind him, Wirt shucked off his satchel and kicked away his shoes to join the piles of books littering his floor. He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged. What did Greg know about families outside of his own little perfect one? When did he ever have to want for attention or love when it was just handed to him on silver platters from both parents? Wirt kicked his satchel over, then slumped onto his bed in a boneless pile of loathing. 

Greg’s dad was at the kid’s side the entire time after they woke up. He made sure Greg was comfortable, made sure he was happy, made sure he knew that he was loved. Sure, he tried to do the same for Wirt, but that wasn’t the point. Jonathan wasn’t his dad.

His dad couldn’t even be bothered to call.

Wirt wrapped his arms around his pillow and squeezed it, pressing it against his chest. Lately, he’d kind of forgotten about the half-brother thing. He’d been so focused on trying to see Greg as his little brother – without any stipulations – that he’d forgotten about the very thing that made them half-brothers in the first place. Their dads.

Sure, he’d been a bit upset when his dad didn’t call after they got out of the hospital, not even to check in, but he hadn’t been surprised by it. Not really. But asking him to drop everything and rush off to spend the weekend with him in New York? That was surprising. He thought he’d learned to read the man through his absence, but clearly not.

There was a small knock on his bedroom door. Wirt flopped onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, determined not to answer it. He should’ve figured that wouldn’t work though, not with Greg. His door eased open and he could just picture his little brother poking his head through. He waited for him to say something so he could yell at him to get out and respect his privacy, but he didn’t.

Wirt tensed, expecting to feel some kind of scrutiny on his back, but he didn’t feel that either. Instead he heard plastic tapping against plastic and a sloshing sound. Wirt lifted his head to investigate. Greg was trying his hardest to balance the plate of apple slices and the two glasses of milk without spilling anything as he slowly crossed the room. A dangerous feat considering the obstacles cluttering the floor.

Greg went back and forth between watching his feet and watching the plate and cups, so intent on his mission that he didn’t notice Wirt watching him until he was right at his bedside. He blinked, then smiled and shifted his arms until he could hold one of the glasses out for him to take. Now that Greg was looking at him, Wirt made sure to frown extra hard.

It didn’t faze him though, he just held the milk out closer to his face. “I brought you your half of the snack, Wirt,” he told him.

“Yeah, I can see that, Captain Obvious,” Wirt grumbled, but took the cup just to make sure Greg didn’t accidentally spill it everywhere. “And you brought the entire snack, Greg. Not just my half.”

“I’m giving you my half, too,” he replied with a shrug, setting the plate down on Wirt’s nightstand once he found a free enough space for it. “I think you need it more than I do today. I hope you feel better.”

Greg rocked on his heels, cradling his glass with two hands now. He thought about something for a brief moment, then leaned in and planted his lips right on Wirt’s cheek. Wirt tensed up, then relaxed, the frown completely erased and replaced with shock. Greg took a step back and looked him over, then grinned. Satisfied with the lack of his brother’s scowl, he turned to go, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I told you to shut up,” Wirt told him, gentle as he shifted Greg around to face him.

He shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t mind it when you do. I think Mom’s the only one who cares. I just think it’s fun to point at you when you say it.”

“Yeah, well, I still shouldn’t have said it.” He sat up more and gave his bed a pat, unable to keep his lips from twitching upwards when Greg lit up and scrambled to sit beside him. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you at all.”

His little brother didn’t look impressed. “You can yell better than that.”

Wirt rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly, making him laugh. “You know what I mean. I just… I don’t like to talk about Dad. Or even think about him, really.”

“Why not?” Greg tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes. “Was he mean to you?”

“Not exactly? I think he mostly didn’t care. So he didn’t go out of his way to be mean, but he didn’t go out of his way to be nice either,” Wirt tried to explain as he took the plate of apple slices from his nightstand to set between them on the bed. 

“Niceness should come naturally,” his little brother preached with the dedication only a six-year-old could have.

Wirt scoffed, watching Greg dunk an apple in the glob of peanut butter. “Well, it doesn’t on my side of the family.”

“What are you talking about? You’re nice!”

“Thanks, Greg, but it doesn’t exactly come naturally to me.” Wirt sipped at his milk, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Greg took a drink to mimic his.

When he finished, he looked at Wirt seriously. “I think it does. Look! You’re letting me sit on your bed and everything!”

“That’s… that’s not really the kind of nice I’m talking about, Greg.”

“Okay. Well, um… you’re sharing your snack with me! That’s nice.” He ate another apple slice to prove his point.

Wirt shook his head. “It was our snack to begin with. Then you decided to be the nice one and give it all to me.”

“And then you gave it back. You didn’t have to, but you did anyway.”

The kid’s steadfast belief in him astounded him. Wirt nibbled on his snack, watching Greg devour more than his half of the plate. He didn’t know how he deserved it, but that was a question for another time. For now, it was easier to give Greg the win and let the subject lie.

“Do you really not know why your dad doesn’t talk to you?” Well, so much for letting it lie.

“I really don’t.” Wirt dipped another apple in peanut butter and stared at it. “I guess when I was younger I thought it was my fault he left. That I wasn’t good enough to make him want to stay.”

Greg stared curiously at him. “Did he tell you that?”

Wirt scoffed. “No, Greg. Even if he wasn’t the best dad, he wouldn’t have said that. It’s just what I came up with to justify what happened. It was a big change for me, you know? One day Dad was there and then the next day he wasn’t. And he never came back no matter how much I wished for it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, crunching on their apples as quietly as possible. “Do you think your wish is coming true now? Maybe your dad wants to see you so he can be a better dad now,” Greg suggested.

 “I don’t know.” Wirt shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Do you still wish he stayed here so you could see him more?”

Did he? He highly doubted that even if his dad had stayed in town he still wouldn’t go out of his way to spend time with him. Even when he lived with them, Wirt’s strongest memory of him was a closed office door. Shutting him out, shutting the world out.

But then there were times, and Wirt was pretty sure they really happened and weren’t just dreams, where he received a proud smile or a pat on the shoulder. There were times he could clearly remember his dad claiming, “that’s my boy” or telling him that he loved him. Sometimes he could remember loving the man, and he had to have done something to earn that, right?

Wirt was jolted out his thoughts by a loud crunch, Greg chomping away on the apples while he waited for his big brother’s response with wide, adoring eyes. Wirt shrunk into himself a bit. Maybe he hadn’t done anything at all to earn it.

“I don’t know, Greg,” he said again, softer. “Maybe.”

“Oh.” Greg swallowed and stared at his feet for a minute, then he reached out to pat Wirt’s hand. “Is he why you get so sad sometimes?”

“I think that’s part of it, but I’m also a teenager. Teenagers get sad about a lot of things. Mood swings and all. You’ve got a lot to look forward to.” He tried for a smile, but, again, Greg didn’t seem convinced.

Before either of them could say anything else on the matter their mom’s voice came from the hallway. “Gregory, I don’t see your room getting any cleaner. You’ve got to the count of three, buster, or I’m doing it for you.”

Wirt snickered while Greg yelped and leapt off the bed, dashing across the hall with his cup of milk in hand to save whatever it was that was at the risk of their mother’s cleaning frenzy. His face paled though, when his mom poked her head into his room and scanned it. She gestured to his mess of a room with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“That goes for you, too, kiddo.”

“Yes, Mom.”

-0-

Mort Palmer was not a patient man.

“Wirt! I’m not going to tell you again!”

He raced into the living room at the sound of the man’s disapproval. It was their old house, the one they had before his mom married Mr. Whelan. He didn’t know that yet though. He was six and his mommy was married to his daddy right now.

Wirt looked up at the scarecrow-like man, all lanky limbs and pointed features. With a scowl his dad pointed to the clarinet sitting on the coffee table. Wirt felt even smaller than usual under the harsh stare.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Put your clarinet back in its case when you’re done!”

“Sorry- I’m sorry,” he squeaked. “I was gonna- I was gonna practice some more later, so I thought…”

“This isn’t a toy, Wirt. This is an expensive instrument and you need to take care of it properly. Take responsibility.” His dad loomed over him, eyes dark.

Wirt nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go put it away.”

He ran over to grab his clarinet, hugging it to his chest. He’d only just gotten it, he didn’t want it to be taken away. He’d been practicing so hard to be good at it. Wirt turned to cradle it back to his room when his mom came in the front door, her frizzy hair done up in a messy ponytail and her eyes lined with exhaustion. Wirt knew the exhaustion was partly because of work and partly because of him. She worried about him a lot.

Like right now as she glanced between him and his dad. “Hi, guys. What’s going on?”

“I’m teaching your son a lesson in responsibility,” his dad replied and Wirt flinched. Oh, Wirt had definitely made him mad. He only called him “your son” to his mom when he was really unhappy with him.

Her gaze turned icy as she stared at his dad, chilling Wirt to the bone. She didn’t say anything for a minute, not until she looked to Wirt with a much softer warmth to her brown eyes. She opened her arms to him, an invitation that he eagerly accepted. She squeezed him tightly and kissed his cheek.

“Why don’t you go practice your clarinet in your room for a bit, sweetie?” she cooed. “Daddy and I need to talk for a minute.”

Wirt nodded, then silently ran down the hall. It was longer than he remembered. Darker. He couldn’t find his bedroom right away, so his parents started talking before he was out of earshot. He couldn’t help but hear them.

“What is it now?” His dad heaved out a resigned sigh.

“You’re scaring him. That’s not okay.”

“I’m not scaring him, Amelia,” he groaned. “It’s respect. I’m his father, he’s got to do what I tell him.”

They were talking about him. Curiosity piqued, even though he knew how this conversation went, he’d heard it before, Wirt slunk back down the hall to listen better. They were talking about him after all, he had every right to know what they were saying.

“It’s not respect,” his mom disagreed. “It’s terror. You have him terrified of doing anything wrong in front of you, like the sky will fall down at his feet if he so much as makes one mistake. That’s not healthy, Mort!”

Their lines were well-rehearsed, their blocking precise as she paced the length of the living room while he crossed it to sit in his chair, grabbing one of his architecture books from the coffee table. He immediately opened it and began to skim the pages. She watched him, disbelief written across her face.

“Are you even listening to me?” she asked, dark brown eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

“Why should I? You’re not saying anything new.”

“Because it’s not getting through your big, stupid brain!” She puffed her cheeks out and blew out a long breath. “Look, Mort, I don’t want to fight over this. I want us to make this work. But I can’t have you making our son miserable. You do see that he’s miserable, don’t you?”

Mort frowned at her from over the pages of his book. “You think our kid’s miserable? He’s got a roof over his head, doesn’t he? Food to eat? Clothes to wear? Toys to play with? His own clarinet for goodness sake! Trust me, our kid is not miserable. He’s obedient. He does what he’s told. He knows how to behave.”

“Your standards are too high. He’s _six_. All I’m asking is that you just… indulge him once in a while. Be a father to him, not an authoritarian,” she begged him.

“There’s a difference?”

“I can’t believe you.”

“You can’t believe me? I’m sorry, but I’m doing the best I can with this. It’s not like any of this was part of my plan. I told you I didn’t want kids!”

“You said you wanted to try!”

“Because you were going to leave me if I didn’t compromise! As a rational human being, I understand that compromises are necessary for a relationship to work, something you can’t seem to grasp.”

“You don’t compromise when it comes to whether or not you want children, Mort. That’s not something you can compromise on!”

“I thought maybe I could!”

Their silence that followed said even more than Wirt ever thought silence could. He pressed his back against the wall, trying to be invisible as his hands wrung his clarinet. They fought a lot, his mom and dad, but he’d never heard the whole thing like this before. It was the first time, but it also wasn’t the last.

“You thought you could,” his mom murmured. “So what does that mean then, Mortimer?”

“You tell me.”

“Wirt?”

Wirt gasped, spinning around to face the little brother that hadn’t been born yet. Greg stared right back at him, then poked him between the eyes. Wirt backed away from him.

“What’re you doing here, Greg?” he sputtered; his voice deeper, his clarinet wasn’t so large in his hands now, and it was his turn to tower over a six-year-old. “You’re gonna get us in trouble again like you always do!”

“You’re crying,” he told him simply. “Are you having a bad dream?”

“Are you, Wirt?” His dad’s voice echoed behind him, and he turned around again to face him, fear etched on his face.

The man was shrouded in shadow, tree branches sprouting from the sides of his skull as his eyes hollowed out and glowed. A scream lodged itself in Wirt’s throat. Mort Palmer morphed into The Beast, his shadow-like form sucking all the light from the house, shrouding them in darkness.

“Are you having a bad dream, Wirt?” his father asked again, his voice and The Beast’s coming from the same mouth. “You should’ve learned to be more responsible. I told you to take responsibility.”

He pointed over Wirt’s shoulder, so he turned to look. His heart stopped and his stomach churned violently as a small cry tore out of him. The Edelwood had already snaked around Greg’s body, draining the life right out of his eyes while Wirt did nothing more than watch.

“Wirt,” Greg called for him.

“I told you to be responsible. Now look what you’ve done.” His father – The Beast – placed his hands on Wirt’s shoulders, his darkness bleeding into him now, too. “Look what you’ve done.”

“No.” Wirt tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t move it, something was holding him in place – The Beast.

The Beast had claimed him.

“Wirt! Wake up!” Greg begged just before the Edelwood completely consumed him. “Wake up!”

“Greg! _Ow_!”

 His head collided with something hard as he tried to sit straight up in his bed. Wirt flopped back down against his pillow with a groan and rubbed his forehead gingerly. He had to blink a few times before he realized Greg was sitting on his stomach, holding his own head in the same way.

“Greg, what’re you doing?” he complained, closing his eyes against the monstrous headache his nightmare plus the literal head-on collision with Greg’s face had caused.

“Sorry, Wirt. I didn’t think you were gonna wake up like that,” he told him, sliding off his stomach to lie beside him on the bed.

“No, I mean, why are you even in here in the first place?” Wirt rolled over onto his side so he could face him.

Greg curled his fingers in Wirt’s pajama sleeve. “Well, I was coming to get you so we could watch the parade. It’s coming on TV in a few minutes. But when I got here, you were crying in your sleep so I tried to wake you up. Was it another nightmare?”

Wirt scrubbed at his face, surprised to find that it was damp. “Yeah, I guess,” he admitted, still a little out of it. “It was different than usual though.”

“It was about your dad, huh?”

“How’d you-?”

“You kept saying, ‘Dad! Dad, no!’ over and over. Were you dreaming of when he went away?” Greg tilted his head.

“Yeah…” Wirt’s brow furrowed. “In a way, I guess I was.”

“Oh.” Greg looked away for a minute, only meeting his gaze again when he was ready to keep talking. “We can put watching the parade on hold if you want to talk about it. Or just sit here. Just sitting here’s okay with me, too.”

Wirt shook his head. “No. No, I don’t want to dwell on it. Let’s go watch the parade.”

A huge smile spread across Greg’s face. “I like the way you think, Wirt! I hope there’ll be a singing frog float this year! So does Jason Funderberker!”

There wasn’t, but Greg and Jason Funderberker enjoyed the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade nonetheless. By the time it was over, Wirt’s nightmare was nothing more than a wispy memory of distorted voices and blurred colors. Deciding not to go to his dad’s was definitely for the best if he was going to have dreams like that from simply talking about the man.

When Greg’s dad took the turkey out to begin the preparations, their mom herded them back into their rooms to get ready before company arrived. Dressing up for Thanksgiving was never really an issue for Wirt, his default wardrobe being a little more formal than most kids his age. He did think the tie was a bit excessive, but his mom promised that as soon as his aunt went home he could take it off. Dressing Greg up for Thanksgiving wasn’t even an issue either. The kid had decided that Peter Pan collar shirts were his favorite kind when given the choice to pick out his own clothes. It didn’t make much sense to Wirt given how active he was, but his mom said he was trying to dress like his big brother in a much younger kind of way.

At first he hadn’t believed her, but sure enough, when Greg came barreling into Wirt’s room looking for Jason Funderberker, he took one look at what Wirt was wearing, then rushed back out. The next time he saw the kid, he was wearing a completely different outfit that better matched his big brother’s. Their mom thought it’d be perfect for pictures. She probably also thought that the brothers would trump whatever matching ensemble their cousins would be wearing. Even though Wirt knew she loved her nieces and nephew, she tended to get a bit ruffled whenever her sister-in-law started bragging about her three little gifts from above, preaching to her about how she should be raising her kids.

Honestly, Wirt didn’t blame her for getting ruffled over it, but he didn’t really see a need to impress a woman that just couldn’t be impressed.

Because of the Halloween incident, their families had decided to hold the Thanksgiving dinner at the Palmer-Whelan household. They thought it would be easier on them. Why they thought that when their dining room could barely fit the four of them on their own was beyond Wirt, but somehow their mom rigged up a long table in the living room to suit the group coming to stay with them. By two o’clock their aunt, uncle, and three cousins, their other uncle, their grandmother on their mom’s side, and Greg’s grandparents had all arrived for the festivities.

It wasn’t that big of a gathering, but it was more people than Wirt was comfortable with in their house, even if they were family. His mom’s younger brothers were pretty cool though, and Wirt enjoyed talking to them, but his aunt was super critical and his cousins were too young for Wirt to really enjoy hanging out with, making him the de facto babysitter of the family. The oldest kid was twelve and the girls were eight and seven. They were loud, too. Louder than Greg, if that was even possible. Wirt knew they got it from their aunt, since his mom and her brothers weren’t exactly loud people thanks to their mother.

Wirt and Greg’s maternal grandmother was a quiet sort of woman, but could command the attention of her children with a single glance. Her grandchildren, too, all except for Greg. Even with their combined loudness, she got along famously with the three of them plus Wirt. Wirt was the oldest, so that automatically put him in her good graces, Cody was really into tennis – which she loved more than life itself – and the girls were, well, adorable, in that matching clothes and curly hair kind of way. Wirt was pretty sure that their grandmother had a hard time understanding her youngest grandchild though and didn’t like that she couldn’t seem to control him, a complete contrast to Greg’s boisterous grandparents. As the only grandchild of their only son, he was their pride and joy. Not that they weren’t nice to Wirt, too. Greg’s grandma always slipped him cinnamon candies from her purse with a fond smile and Greg’s grandpa introduced them as his grandsons whenever they went out somewhere together. Somehow he didn’t mind that as much as people assuming Greg’s dad was his dad, too.

“Just look at these boys, Gloria!” Greg’s grandpa boomed as he walked in the front door, locking one arm around Wirt’s shoulder and the other around Greg’s. “These boys can’t possibly be our grandchildren! They’re far too old!”

“Grandpa, that joke doesn’t work this time! You saw us two weeks ago!” Greg pointed out, giggling as he wiggled out of the man’s grasp to launch himself at his grandma.

“That joke works all the time. It’s a classic,” he protested, then brought Wirt in for a proper hug that he returned with an awkward pat to the back. “Good to see you, Wirt. How’ve you been, sport?”

“Good. Great,” he replied, voice cracking. “It’s uh… good to see you, too.”

He never knew what to call them. So far he’d been skating by his entire life by not addressing them at all. He couldn’t call them Mr. and Mrs. Whelan since Greg’s dad had been Mr. Whelan to him before he’d ever been Jonathan, and calling them Jim and Gloria just seemed weird. And he couldn’t call them Grandpa and Grandma. He tried once and it ended with him in tears, hiding in the women’s restroom at some restaurant, sobbing into his mom’s shoulder, which at ten years old was super embarrassing.

It just saved everyone a lot of awkwardness if he didn’t call them anything at all.

He gave Greg’s grandma a hug when his little brother finished with her, allowing her to cup his face with her hands to get a good look at him. “Oh, you’re turning into such a handsome young man, Wirt. Grandpa’s right, every time we see you, you look that much older. Time really does fly. I remember seeing you for the first time as if it were yesterday. It was Christmas Eve and you were eight years old. My Jono brought you and your mother over for dinner. They’d only just started dating, but we were so eager to meet you both, and what a treasure you were! You looked so dapper in your little vest and clip-on tie. Oh, I fell in love with you the instant I saw you! You were terribly shy, but so polite. We had a dish of candy out on the coffee table and you were eyeing it the second you walked in, but never once tried to grab any. So I snuck you some just before dinner, because you’d been so well-behaved with all of us boring adults. You lit up brighter than our Christmas tree. And that sweet smile of yours just sealed the deal, my boy.”

She told him that story nearly every time she saw him. He smiled for her, let her kiss his cheek, then stepped aside so she could find Greg’s dad. When he turned around it was to see Greg looking at him with an almost sad expression. Wirt went to ask him what was wrong, but in the blink of an eye, the boy was making a disgusted face.

“Blegh. Grandma kisses are gross,” he told him, then mimed rubbing his cheek. “The lipstick never comes off.”

Wirt wiped his face to make sure it hadn’t left a mark. “Well, it’s not like we have to put up with it every day,” he reasoned.

“It’s still gross. And she smells like really weird soap mixed with old flowers.”

He was right. She did. But it was that familiar, comforting grandma smell, so Wirt didn’t mind it so much. “You’ll get used to it, Greg.”

Greg made another face, but it was wiped away quickly as Greg considered whatever new thought that popped into his head right then. “Hey, Wirt? Do you think I’ll get the wishbone wish this year?”

That was definitely an out-of-the-blue question befitting his brother. “I don’t know, Greg. Maybe. It’s all in the grip.”

Greg stared down at his hand, clenching it into a fist. When he looked to Wirt, it was with a serious nod. Then he ran off. Wirt was tempted to follow him, but his mom called him over to greet his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Oh, the joys of being six and getting to run away whenever you wanted.

At least they were at home so he could sneak off to his room if he needed to. Or hide in Greg’s room, no one would think to look for him in there. He could hide in the closet.

Sometimes he wished Thanksgiving didn’t have to be a whole big thing, longing for a quieter kind of holiday. He pictured his dad’s sterile apartment and shivered. Extended family members and awkward conversations aside, he’d still very much rather be here than in Manhattan with his dad.

He tried to chat with his cousin Cody, but they really didn’t have enough in common for that to last. He ended up sitting down to play with the girls, Meaghan and Beth, when the younger cousin started crying because Greg wouldn’t play with them. Wirt didn’t blame him. The kid seemed to harbor an unusual wariness around the girls, probably stemming back from when they used him as a dress-up doll when he was a baby. They adored him, even if they couldn’t put him in dresses anymore, and were always disappointed when he ran away from them. Playing with Wirt was the next best thing though. Usually if he sat through two rounds of Candy Land, Greg would crawl out of his hidey hole to join them, so he sucked it up for the time being. Besides, playing board games with kids was a lot easier than playing twenty questions with the adults.

“Mommy says you almost drowned,” Meaghan told him as she bypassed him and Beth by way of the Gumdrop Pass. “Is that true?”

Wirt’s hand hesitated over the deck of cards. “Uh… well…” He glanced over his shoulder to check if his aunt was listening. The adults were all either congregated around the kitchen or focused on the football game. “She told you that?”

“No, she was telling her friends about it and I was eavesdropping,” the girl explained. “They were talking about kids being too lazy and careless these days thinking they’re invincible, then said how you and Greg almost drowned because you weren’t responsible and that it wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so careless and that she expected better from you. So is it true? Did you almost drown?”

“I…” Wirt grabbed his card, staring at the bright yellow square in the center of it.

Not responsible enough. Yeah, right. His dad’s words from his still fading dream ricocheted in his mind, puncturing his memory banks and emotional core with sharpened accuracy deadlier than the deceptively delicate tip of a rapier to the heart. Ugh, no, that was some pretty bad poetry, clearly he wasn’t feeling it today, but the emotions behind it still stood. Even if he couldn’t stand her sometimes, he had to admit his aunt hit the jackpot with that one.

“Well, yeah,” he answered slowly. “Sort of?”

“Don’t you know how to swim?” Beth asked, snatching her card before Wirt even had a chance to move his piece. “You’re almost a grown-up, you should know how to swim.”

“I know how to swim.” He frowned, his defenses rising before he reminded himself this was a seven-year-old child. “We fell down a hill first and it messed us up for a bit. That made it kinda hard to swim. And the water was really cold. Have you ever swam in really cold water after falling down a hill?”

“No,” both girls replied.

“Well, if you do, and hopefully you don’t _ever_ , then you can come talk to me about being able to swim well enough to not drown. Which I did. Clearly.” He gestured to himself.

“What’s it like to almost drown?” Meaghan pressed.

“Not fun,” he replied, taking back what he thought about playing with kids being better than dealing with adults. At least the adults had tact.

“ _Was_ it your fault that you and Greg almost drowned like Mommy said?”

“Yes! It was all my fault, now can we talk about something else? What have you guys been up to? Let’s talk about your fun adventures instead.” Wirt slammed his next card in the discard pile. “Oh, well, look at that. I’m going all the way to Queen Frostine’s.” He mockingly danced his gingerbread man up to the ice cream land at the top of the board. “Now all the ice cream is mine.”

Meaghan and Beth stared at him, then the older sister leaned over to whisper to the younger, “I think almost drowning broke him. There must still lake water in his brain.”

Wirt scowled at them both, but was rescued from more of their scrutiny by their grandmother’s request for family pictures. The girls knocked into the board in their hurry to be first to please their grandmother. The deck of cards slid all over the floor and the gingerbread men pieces toppled over. With a sigh, Wirt started cleaning up the mess. If they wanted to play again later, then they could start a new game.

With a croak, Jason Funderberker hopped up to him, one of the cards in his mouth. The tension in Wirt’s shoulders eased up a bit. He gave the frog a pat on the head and took the card from him.

“Thanks, guy,” he told him fondly, then folded up the game. “So where’s Greg?”

_Ribbit._   Their frog hopped into his lap, giving Wirt no choice but to scoop him up and carry him into the backyard where everyone had gathered for pictures. His little brother was already outside, their mom fussing with his hair as she left dinner in the hands of Greg’s dad for the time being.

“Wirt! Jason Funderberker!” Greg grinned, pointing at them to distract their mom.

It worked. “Wirt, there you are. Go get in place. We’re doing just the grandkids first.”

“Okay.” He stood over beside Cody and behind the younger kids, Jason Funderberker still in his arms.

“Is that a _frog_?” His aunt gaped at him in horror, so overdramatic that he had to roll his eyes. “Why on earth are you holding a frog? Honestly, Wirt, I’d expect this kind of thing from Gregory, but from you? Put that thing down, you don’t know where it’s been.”

“He’s been in our house,” Wirt explained. “He’s not just some frog. He’s our frog.”

“Yeah! Our frog!” Greg chimed in. “His name’s Jason Funderberker and we got him a frog tank and everything!”

Their aunt looked to their mom. “You got them a pet frog?”

“Well, they sort of got themselves a pet frog,” she replied with a shrug. “I told them they could keep him as long as they promised to take care of him properly.”

“A _frog_?”

Their mom stiffened, warning her sister-in-law with a stern gleam in her eyes. “He’s a very good frog.”

“He’s a special frog!” Greg agreed. “He can sing!”

“Well, I don’t care how special the frog is, it’s not going to be in this picture. Wirt, put it down and wash your hands,” their aunt instructed.

Wirt frowned, but set Jason Funderberker on the patio. It wasn’t worth fighting over, though he didn’t go inside to wash his hands. Jason Funderberker was a very hygienic frog.

Pictures took far longer than it should’ve with only five kids – somebody blinked, Greg made a face, Beth sneezed, Wirt you’re not looking at the camera what are you staring at? Greg stop dancing this isn’t dance time – but they managed to get a few shots that pleased the adults. All the variations of poses and people in the pictures seemed a bit excessive to Wirt, especially since they did this every year, but when he caught sight of his mom looking at one of the pictures on her camera with such gratitude and relief that both of her sons were still here for Thanksgiving, could still have pictures taken of them, he figured it wasn’t that big a deal to stand around and force a smile every now and then.

During a quick break in the pictures, Wirt sidled over to where his brother was kneeling in the grass, collecting twigs in his lap. “So, what’ve you been up to all afternoon?”

Greg grinned up at him, brandishing one of his sticks. “I’ve been practicing my grip for the wishbone! I really want to win it this year. Really bad.” He inspected the durability of his current twig collection, then chucked them aside. “I need to find stronger sticks though. I have to step up my game.”

With that, he sped away to the other side of the yard. Wirt shook his head with a small smile. He hadn’t realized Greg was taking the whole wishbone thing so seriously. Sure, it was always fun to play as a kid, and as the youngest, Greg automatically got to be one of the kids who got to hold one end of the wishbone. He’d be going up against one their cousins, Beth most likely since she was second youngest, or Wirt himself if he felt particularly inclined to partake this year.

“Okay, let’s do one for Jim and Gloria,” his mom called out, attracting Wirt’s attention as she waved her youngest over. “Greg, come stand with your grandparents.”

Greg, true to his nature, ran in the exact opposite direction. Right up to Wirt. He grabbed onto Wirt’s wrist and tugged on it.

“You too, Wirt!” he told him.

“No, Greg, this one’s just of your family.” Wirt attempted to dissuade him.

“You are my family!”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

Greg’s grandpa cut him off with a booming laugh. “Gregory’s right! And I want both my grandkids in this year’s photo. Come on, boys, gather ‘round me and Grandma.”

With an “I told you so” expression, Greg dragged Wirt over to stand with the couple. He’d taken pictures with them before, sure, but for these holiday ones, he didn’t tend to intrude. He didn’t want to take their time away from their real grandchild. When nobody else seemed to mind though, he accepted it for this one time and produced a few picture-worthy smiles.

Once they finished, Greg grabbed onto him again and pulled. “I’ve got something to show you, Wirt! Come on!”

“O-okay,” he stammered, having no choice in the matter as he was yanked back into the house, with a quick stop to grab Jason Funderberker.

The brothers made a beeline for Greg’s bedroom, the younger one releasing Wirt’s arm to slam his door shut. Wirt almost didn’t recognize the room with how clean he’d managed to make it. Scanning the dresser, bed, and nightstand, he tried to find what he was so excited to show him. Greg toddled across the room to sit down on the floor by his bed, leaning against the side of it. He patted the spot beside him for Wirt and Jason Funderberker to take a seat.

“So, what is it you wanted to show me?” he asked, handing their frog over to him.

Greg gave Jason a hug, then shook his head. “Nothing. I just thought you’d want to sit alone for a few minutes and that saying I was gonna show you something would be a good excuse for why you weren’t outside with everyone else.”

“Really?” Wirt couldn’t believe how incredibly accurate his little brother’s assumption was.

“Well, Mom might’ve said something about hiding you for a little bit so you could recharge, but I figured out the rest of the plan,” he admitted.

That was more like it. Wirt snorted, but ruffled Greg’s hair nonetheless. “Thanks, Greg.”

“No problem, brother o’ mine! You can always count on me.” Greg jabbed him thumb against his chest, puffed up proudly.

For about forty-five seconds, they sat in silence on the floor of Greg’s bedroom. Wirt noticed when he got fidgety and could tell by the furrow of his brow that he had a question he was figuring out how to ask. He let him take his time to find the right words. Leaning his head back against Greg’s mattress, Wirt counted the glow-in-the dark stars on his ceiling while he waited.

“How come family isn’t always nice?”

Wirt didn’t know what kind of question he was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. “What do you mean?” he asked back.

“Well… I mean like how your dad doesn’t talk to you at all even though he’s your dad. Or how sometimes families talk about each other behind each other’s backs.” Greg frowned looking up at the ceiling now himself. “I heard what Meaghan and Beth said that Aunt Jan said about us. About you. I don’t think she should’ve been talking about you like that. She’s our _aunt_.”

Wirt sighed. Of course he’d overheard that. “I don’t know, Greg. You’re right, she shouldn’t have, but she probably didn’t think we’d ever know she said that. And who knows? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe Meaghan made it up.”

“No, she said it. She’s mean enough to. I mean, did you see the way she looked at Jason Funderberker? I think she’s part witch and wants to use him in her witch’s brew.”

A shocked laugh burst from Wirt, the image too easy to conjure. “Y-yeah?” he managed, pressing his hand to his chest.

Greg was smiling at him now, pleased by the reaction. “Yeah! And we can’t let her get her warty, witch hands on him, Wirt!”

“You’re right. We’ll have to come up with a plan.” Wirt played along.

“Oh! I know!” Greg jumped up. “Wait right here!”

He ran to the door, checked the hall quickly, then scurried out to brave the rest of the house. While his little brother rifled around for whatever he was looking for, Wirt scratched their frog’s head and listened to the distant chatter of their relatives. Dinner was almost ready, he could smell the sweet potatoes and their grandmother’s green bean casserole amongst other things. His stomach growled, but honestly he was content to wait a while longer.

“Aha!” Greg shouted, brandishing Wirt’s Halloween costume in one hand and the silver tea kettle in the other, crucial components to any and all of their make-believe games. “Now we’ll be able to come up with the perfect plan for sure! You know why?”

“Why?” Wirt took the offered clothes and leaned in with interest.

“Because I just realized what kind of witch Aunt Jan is,” he confided, plonking the kettle right on his head. “She’s secretly the other sister of Adelaide and Auntie Whispers, and she works for The Beast.”

“Oh.” Forcing his eyes to widen, Wirt tried to hide his smile as he fixed his hat upon his head. “You know, you might just be right. I think I saw Aunt Jan eat a black turtle once.”

“No way!” Greg gasped. “Then she must be stopped! If she gets her hands on Jason Funderberker and makes her witch’s brew, then she’ll be able to bring The Beast back to life and he’ll want revenge!”

“I know what we can do. We can cast a spell of protection on Jason Funderberker, to keep him safe from witches,” Wirt reasoned.

Greg crossed his arms and tilted his head. “But wouldn’t that make _us_ witches?”

“Pilgrims can cast spells, too,” he assured him. “Anyone can as long as they… uh… believe. In magic.” That stupidly catchy song by The Lovin’ Spoonful popped into his head, so he couldn’t resist adding, “Do you believe in magic, Gregory?” Except Wirt pitched his voice a decibel lower, making his little brother giggle.

“Yeah! Let’s do the spell, Wirt!”

“Okay. Um…” He wracked his brain for a poem he could substitute for a spell, unsure if he could come up with something new in such a short amount of time. “Alright. Ahem.” He waved his hands over Jason Funderberker. “Over hill, over dale… Thorough bush, thorough brier. Over park, over pale. Thorough flood, thorough fire!”

“Are you sure this is a spell?” Greg asked when he paused for breath. “It sounds like a poem.”

It was actually Shakespeare’s sonnet, “A Fairy Song,” but Wirt still stiffened defensively. “It’s a spell. Spells… _are_ poems. Magic poems. Now shh. You need to believe or it won’t work.”

“You shh!”

“I’m saying the spell, I can’t shh.”

“Fine.”

Wirt nodded, then took a deep breath and resumed casting the spell. “I do wander everywhere,  
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;  
And I serve the Fairy Queen,  
To dew her orbs upon the green;  
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;  
In their gold coats spots you see;  
Those be rubies, fairy favours;  
In those freckles live their savours;  
I must go seek some dewdrops here,  
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.”

For a little flair at the finish, Wirt grabbed Greg’s paper plate turkey from his nightstand and shook some glitter onto Jason Funderberker. His little brother approved of this extra touch, even though their frog didn’t seem to. He smiled expectantly at Wirt.

“So now he’s protected from the witch?” he clarified.

“Almost. We need to give him something of ours to seal the spell. Protective talismans. To show how much we want to keep him safe.” Wirt removed his hat and the cape to place them at Jason Funderberker’s side. “There. Now you, Greg.”

Greg nodded, setting his tea kettle on the floor. He also gave him his replacement rock facts rock, just in case. Throwing his arms in the air, Greg crowed, “You’re free, Jason Funderberker! Free!” He fell back onto his bottom and laughed. “That was fun, Wirt. Way better than Candy Land.”

“Yeah. Now not even The Beast can get his hands on him,” Wirt assured him, ruffling Greg’s hair. “But we better go see how Mom’s doing with dinner. She probably wants us to set the table or something. And everyone did come here to see us, after all.”

“Okay. If you’re feeling better, then my job is done.” Greg nodded sagely, then looked Wirt over before smacking the top of his head. “Good thing we took pictures already! Your head looks like an angry cactus!”

“Hey! Greg, stop it.” Wirt batted his hands away, combing his own fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it presentable. “Oh well, I’ll just say it’s your fault if Mom asks.”

Greg gasped, then followed him out into the fray like a dedicated puppy. “Wirt, how could you? I thought I was your favorite brother!”

“You’re my only brother, Greg.”

“Which means _I’m_ the only one who can be the favorite brother, Wirt.”

They set the table for dinner, Greg flitting back and forth from actually being helpful to chatting with his grandparents or pestering Cody with rock facts until the food was ready. Their grandmother took her seat at the head of the table, their uncles sitting on either side of her. Aunt Jan sat beside her husband, followed by Cody, Meaghan, Beth, and then Greg. Greg’s grandparents sat on his other side, with Jim as the other head of the table, then Gloria, Jonathan, their mom, and Wirt, then finally back to their uncle.

“What about a place setting for Uncle Endicott?” Greg asked him.

“Uh, I don’t think he can make it this year, Greg,” Wirt replied.

Greg brought up an extra chair that he wedged beside him in the corner just in case. No one questioned it as they all sat down, though Wirt could tell their aunt wanted to say something, but she kept her mouth shut. She was probably relieved that their frog wasn’t making a guest appearance and didn’t want to do anything to jinx that.

Greg’s dad brought out the carved turkey – pre-carving in the kitchen was always easier for these types of gatherings – and placed it in the center of the table. “Let us give thanks for all of the blessings bestowed upon us this year,” he began theatrically, then nodded towards Greg’s grandpa. “Go ahead and start us off, Dad.”

The man nodded seriously, cleared his throat, then said, “I’m thankful the San Francisco Giants took the World Series this year.”

“Jim,” his wife sighed, but smiled through her husband’s antics while the uncles laughed.

“Alright, alright. I’m grateful that we’re able to spend the holiday with you lovely folks this year. All of us together, like it should be.”

He smiled and winked at Greg, who winked back without knowing why, and guilt rose in Wirt’s throat. Because of him, their family might’ve had to endure today without Greg. Because of him, the sweet couple that was nothing but nice and welcoming to him could’ve lost their only grandchild. _Look what you’ve done._

The echo of his nightmare – of his dad’s disappointment melding with The Beast’s glee – sent shivers down his spine. No. No, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Greg was fine. He saved him. They were both fine. Everyone was fine. Even his dad was fine and not some forest-dwelling monster, enjoying whatever it was he did on Thanksgiving and most likely not missing Wirt in the slightest.

Wirt fidgeted as they began to cycle through everyone’s thanks. Greg’s grandma went next, then Greg’s dad. He managed to ease the guilt in his gut back to an acceptable amount.

When it was their mom’s turn, her smile turned tearful as she turned to look at him. “I’m thankful for my boys,” she said honestly, to him and then across the table to Greg. “I’m so incredibly grateful that they’re healthy and here with us.”

_Look what you’ve done._ His stomach rolled as he recalled the very pale, very unhealthy tinge to his brother’s skin as very large, very unhealthy branches sprouted from where he stood. The murmur of agreement that rose up from the adults brought him back from those memories. He blinked them back, noticing that the kids other than Greg remained completely uninterested while his mother gave thanks. Wirt didn’t take it personally though, he couldn’t blame them. They were eager to eat dinner, and giving thanks was the most awkward part of Thanksgiving, which was ironic, considering.

He fumbled through his own thanks, his stomach leaden with shame as everyone’s eyes turned on him, eager to hear what the boy who nearly died not even a month ago had to be thankful for. The boy who nearly got his little brother killed.

“I’m thankful… that uh, that Mom made me take swimming lessons?” he squeaked out. Greg’s grandpa, dad, and Greg himself laughed out loud, finding the sentiment hilarious. Even his mom snorted a chuckle into her hand.

“Wirt,” she reprimanded, hiding her smile. “Be tasteful.”

He glanced at his grandmother who simply raised an eyebrow at him and he offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Um. I’m thankful… to be here. Really. I’m thankful that things didn’t turn out as bad as they could’ve. Yeah. That’s. That’s it.”

The most awkward part of Thanksgiving.

Relieved to be done, Wirt sagged in his seat and listened with half an ear as the rest of the family gave their thanks. He eyed the food spread out in front of him and began planning exactly what he should go for first to take his mind off the lingering guilt. Sweet potatoes, then one of the crescent rolls because the kids always took all the crescent rolls before he could get any. He’d have to reach pretty far for them, the green bean casserole sat between him and the basket of bread, but if he did it fast, maybe no one would mind.

“I’m thankful that…”

Wirt perked up. It was Greg’s turn already. He watched with interest as his little brother hesitated. Normally the kid didn’t have any problem blurting out all the things he had to be thankful for. Maybe he was having a difficult time choosing. He stared at his clasped hands with an intense look of concentration. He didn’t lift his gaze at all when he started talking again, not until he reached the end of what he had to say.

“I’m thankful that Wirt’s dad went away, because if he didn’t, then I wouldn’t get to have the best big brother in the whole world, who goes on adventures with me in the woods and thinks up the best frog names and got me a new rock facts rock and walks me home from school. Who’s the most responsible person I’ve ever met and the smartest, which is a good thing even if it means he thinks too much sometimes. Who’s so nice, he doesn’t even realize how nice he is. Who’s the total package. Who saved me.

“I’m thankful, but I’m also sorry it makes Wirt sad sometimes, and if I get the wishbone wish this year, then I’d wish he had a really nice dad who didn’t go away and loved him very much so he wouldn’t have to be sad. But if I don’t, then I want everyone to know how thankful I am that I have a big brother and that he’s Wirt.”

Greg nodded seriously, then smiled, pleased with how his grace came out. It promptly fell, however, when his gaze met Wirt’s. “Oh no! Did I make you cry, Wirt? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t supposed to make you sad.”

Wirt’s breathing hitched as he realized with a pang of embarrassment that he had teared up somewhere during Greg’s speech. “I’m not crying,” he replied, hastily rubbing his cheeks as all eyes went to him. “It’s- it’s the garlic from the green beans. It’s strong. Making my eyes water. I’m just… I’m just gonna sit over by you instead. Yeah. That should help.”

Everyone remained quiet as Wirt slid into the seat his brother squeezed in for Endicott. Even after he got comfortable, which was challenging since there wasn’t much room for him at all at the corner of the table and his knees kept bonking into Greg’s chair, the adults remained silent. Though their mom was smiling incredibly wide, like this little scene of theirs was the sweetest thing ever even if it meant it threw off the seating plan. Greg tugged on his sleeve, still watching him to make sure he was okay.

With this new seating arrangement, it placed Wirt back in the order of saying thanks, between Greg and Jim. “Can I add something to what I’m thankful for?” he asked before he lost his nerve.

Greg’s dad nodded. “Of course, kiddo. Go ahead.”

“Okay.” Wirt cleared his throat, avoiding any and all eye contact. “I’m also thankful that my dad went away. Because if he didn’t, then… then I wouldn’t have the best little brother in the whole world, who likes me enough that he’s willing to waste his wishbone wish on me. I’m…” He paused, glancing over at the surprised boy next to him. “I’m thankful for Greg and if I got the wishbone wish, I wouldn’t use it, because I don’t wish for anything to be different. And um… Jonathan?” He looked across the table at his stepdad. “Thank you… for becoming part of our family. It wouldn’t be right without you and Greg.”

It was Jonathan’s turn to tear up as the brightest smile since Greg’s birth stretched across the man’s face. “I’m so happy to be part of it, Wirt,” he sniffled. “Thank _you_.”

Wirt squirmed in his seat. Now that he’d completely embarrassed himself and caused the entire meal to be put on hold thanks to an onslaught of emotions it was time for him to find a rock to hide under. Unfortunately Greg was still holding onto his sleeve, his fingers actually tightening as if he could read Wirt’s thoughts and was making it so he couldn’t escape. Well, so much for that plan.

Luckily, Greg’s grandpa saved the day. “Come on, people! I know this is Thanksgiving and all, but enough with the thank yous! Pull it together, Jono,” he told his son. “I know none of us will be thankful if all this delicious food gets cold while we wait for you to compose yourself.”

The heavy mood shattered and plates of food were passed around. Their mom filled Wirt’s for him, since he hadn’t thought to take his plate with him when he changed seats. She gave him plenty of sweet potatoes and regular mashed potatoes – which he and Greg liberally slathered in molasses instead of gravy much to Greg’s grandpa’s… their grandpa’s amusement. She even managed to get him a crescent roll.

Wirt grinned. The basket of bread hadn’t made it to their side of the table yet, so this was a stroke of luck for him. Their mom was the best. By the time they did get the basket, there were no crescent rolls left. Greg searched under the other bread options, but there wasn’t a single one left. Wirt mentally thanked their mom again, while Greg sighed heavily and plucked up one of their aunt’s homemade biscuits instead.

They were good biscuits, but Wirt knew from past experience that when you wanted a crescent roll they just couldn’t compare. He looked to his own roll, then placed it on Greg’s plate. His little brother’s mouth formed a perfect circle as he stared at it. He shot Wirt a glance of pure disbelief, beaming when the older brother shrugged and smiled. Greg snatched it up and promptly ripped it in half, handing the larger half back to Wirt.

He blinked, slowly reaching out to accept his brother’s offering. Once he had, Greg shifted so he was sitting on his knees. He cupped his hand around his mouth as he leaned in as if to tell him a secret.

“See? I told you you’re naturally nice.”

Wirt breathed out a laugh, utter fondness coloring his smile. “Yeah, you did, Greg. You did.”

Sure, the giving thanks part was the most awkward part of Thanksgiving, but it was kind of worth it. He’d meant every word he’d said. How could he wish for anything that would take away someone he knew he could always count on? Wirt certainly wouldn’t have traded him, or his and Greg’s mish-mash of immediate and extended family, for anything. Not anything in the world.

While the dishes were being cleared away, Wirt slipped into the kitchen to fetch the wishbone. He hid it behind his back as he scanned the dining and living rooms for his little brother. When he found him, he crept up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Greg spun around with a bright grin, then blinked when Wirt held out one end of the wishbone to him, the other end gripped tightly in his hand.

“Think you can come up with a different wish?” he asked him.

Greg lit up as he latched onto his half of the wishbone. “Are you kidding? I’m full of great wish ideas!”

“Okay then. On three. One… two…”

“Three!” Greg tugged and the bone snapped in two, the larger half in his grasp. “I did it!”

Wirt grinned. “So what are you gonna wish for?”

“Well, it’s a tossup between becoming a magical tiger or a trip to Disneyland,” Greg confided. “Or getting super powers. I kinda want some super powers. What would you have wished for, Wirt?”

Inspecting his piece of the wishbone, Wirt shrugged. “I guess I’d wish for us to have many more Thanksgivings, Christmases, _Halloweens_ ,” he nudged Greg knowingly, “just like this. Or you, know, a trip to Disneyland. That could be fun, too.”

“Nah. I like your wish idea better. That’s what I’m gonna wish for, too.” Greg replied, then laughed when Wirt pulled him in for a hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Greg.”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Wirt! And to all a good night!”

“Greg, that’s Christmas.”

“‘Tis the season, Wirt. ‘Tis the season.”


End file.
